Calendar Boys
by TheSouthernScribe
Summary: The twelve months of the year never looked so good. The final month - December featuring Captain James T. Kirk by Ejectingthecore
1. January by The SouthernScribe

_I would like to send out a heartfelt thank you to a group of wonderfully talented writers who chipped in to help out with this little project. I can only hope that one day I can wield a pen with the same force as these ladies. So go ahead and add this to your favorites. Put it on story alert because you don't want to miss one month._

_First up is January and Captain Richard Robau. Check out my profile for a link to a beautiful photobucket album that contains the accompanying photos. _

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**_Disclaimer: We don't own them but you know you wish we did. _**

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**_January - Captain Richard Robau_**

Skin reminiscent of cinnamon blended with brown sugar.

Smooth planes that curve into the perfect pointed peak on a bald head.

Dark soul stealing gaze that beseeches me to honor every one of the desires whispered on the wind by the parted lips I'm dying to kiss.

I want him.

The idea is intriguing. He'll be my first. Previously all my lovers have been female. The softness of another woman's skin against mine and the tenderness of her touch is a proven aphrodisiac that led to a bounty of pleasure filled experiences.

Then there's him.

Richard Robau. His shoulders square and he lifts his chin as his hand reaches for mine. Automatically I can feel the energy between us. It's appealing. There's confidence in his stride and assurance in the rich tenor of his voice. I watch as girl after girl – because that's what they are: children playing with something clearly reserved for an adult – bows at his bronzed feet. He's a god holding court in the presence of unworthy mortals.

Observing his ways becomes my favorite pastime. The way his mouth molds the words he speaks – the intensity present in his eyes while he's deep in thought – that half smile that lights his face as he teases those he calls friend. The man is a sight to behold.

When we pass each other in the halls, he nods politely, bowing at the waist as he addresses me as "queen". Out of misplaced nervousness my hand reaches for the locks messily arranged in a crown of blondes and browns. Under lowered lashes I attempt to shield my embarrassment. A smile is the only response I have to offer. I'll remember it as the day that intrigue delved beyond fascination and deepened into a heady lust swirling around me whenever he's in view.

I can feel his calloused hands on my body. They're the hands of a man who's known a life of struggle and hard work.

"I play as hard as I work."

He whispers in my ear. The heat pools between my legs.

Freeing my hair, he watches in silent adoration as one by one the coiled strands fall and frame my shoulders. He laces one hand through my hair – tugging and pulling me to his body. My breath hitches as he tilts my head back to fully expose my neck. I can feel his nose and lips skim the surface of my skin. He learns me and the body he will soon possess. What causes me to pant? If he touches here or there will my skin decorate in the tiny goose bumps that fuel his desire?

He drinks in my scent. Brushing his cheek against my face and caressing my delicate features with his fingers. A thumb traces my lips. My tongue is too slow. I need to kiss him. To taste his honey laced mouth. Drink the elixir hidden beneath his tongue. His denial is torture, causing me to moan in displeasure.

His hands ghost across my skin, drifting lower. He cups my breasts and I'm surprised when they respond to his touch. It's a test. His lips taste me, starting with my eyes, then cheeks, and finally he captures my lips in a demure kiss. I'm infuriated until that same mouth finds my breasts. He alternates from left to right, granting equal attention by pausing to suckle each nipple and rolling them gently between his teeth. His tongue lingers as he licks, pulls, and teases until they stand at attention for him.

I can't speak. Words are held captive in my throat as I feel his fingers spread my delicate center. He strokes my clit and naturally I begin to move, creating more friction and loving how his touch feels. He takes one of my legs and wraps it around his waist. His fingers probe deeper – one, then another – we find a rhythm. My hands grip his shoulders before I stroke his ears and rub his head. He likes this. His head dips and finds my neck. His mouth is hot and wet against my skin. I want him to taste me there – lower – lower. And as if he reads my mind, he adjusts his body to kneel before me.

Desperately I wait, afraid to release the air I'm holding in my lungs, for fear of missing the first rush of pleasure generated by his tongue. I watch as my leg is moved to rest across one of his chiseled shoulders. One hand holds me steady for his mouth. He blows and I shudder. I feel his breath as he exhales and then his tongue connects with my clit. My knees buckle and he shifts, pressing me against the wall for support. One sweep of that wide tongue covers me from fold to fold. His lips hum and encase the nub of sensitive tissue. I'm crying. My mind cannot comprehend my body's reaction to him. No woman before him has ever created the need I have right now. I buck and ride his tongue. Enjoying his exploration of the pussy he's set on fire. I roll my hips, taking more of what he's offering. The incoherent murmurs from my lips intensify as he continues to fuck me with his mouth. I climax in awe, watching him savor every drop as if it's a rare offworld delicacy.

My body twitches with delightful aftershocks as he lightly kisses my still quivering core. He waits for my breaths to go from staggered to steady. His hands are steady as they lift my voluptuous body and deposit me on the array of pillows. I hungrily devour the kiss he grants. I'm aroused by the taste of my nectar on his lips. His tongue is skilled and it extracts his name from my mouth in that second of pleasure. I spread my legs compelling him to finish this twisted game he's begun. He laughs at the urgency on my face. The tip of his erection teases my opening. I wrap my legs around him, arching my back and propelling my hips higher in a plea for completion. He lowers his body and the head pushes past my walls.

He urges my legs higher until my knees are on either side of my head. I grunt out of anger and frustration as he withdraws. Then he fills me, completely. Burying his entire length in my warmth and I feel my body conform to fit him. I'm holding my knees as he plunges deeper. I want him everywhere. Without warning he flips my body over, driving into me from behind. Kissing the small of my back, grabbing my ass, and telling me how beautiful I look on all fours, waiting to be fucked. It's the final thread and my composure is gone. I fall back against his chest. My muscles tighten around his throbbing member. He's on the verge of an explosion. I meet each of his thrust with one of my own. He hisses. His pace quickens and his finger finds my clit forcing me to orgasm with him. We cry out before collapsing into a pile of sweaty limbs.

He changes the story every time he whispers it in my ear. Sometimes I beg and other versions find the night ends to the sound of my whimpered proclamations that he is a god of every sensual delight. It doesn't matter, as long as he repeats the performance time and time again.


	2. February by Ejectingthecore

_First just to clarify the January submission was written by yours truly. This is a group effort so you'll see entries from many of the authors you love here at fanfiction. _

_Thank you ladies for donating a small portion of your time to this project!!!!!!!!!!_

_Many hugs and kisses to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter!!!!! I will say it again, you haven't seen anything yet. So go ahead - it's okay - add it to your favorites - press the story alert button. _

_You don't want to miss it..._

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**_Disclaimer - Still don't own them._**

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_Next up at bat, one of my favorite authors on this site, __**Ejectingthecore,**__ show her love with a review filled with much deserved praise for her entry…_

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_**February – George Kirk **_

When I see him on the bridge, I falter. Then chastise myself, for being so obvious.

George Kirk.

In my mind, I gape in wonder at myself. What I want to do to him is filthy. When we're working, I apply myself to calculations and information, feeding data to him, when he wants it, when he needs it.

You're either a captain's girl or a first officer's. Depends which kind of man you think is going to inherit the universe. The ones who can drag home an Algorian mammoth, or the ones who can calculate an enemy ship's trajectory, reprogram a sabotaged life support system, navigate by the stars alone.

Sure, the captains are brave and shiny. In their command chairs, so beautiful their bodies can't sit still, all power and motion.

But the first officers are still, and as deep as dark matter. They are always intelligent, scientists, mathematicians, strategists, speculators. They think. Their bodies are fluid, strong without brawn. Their brains are beautiful. They're brave too, brave beyond reason and measured in their use and display of it. They work with frightening grace under the pressure of never knowing when their bravery will be called upon. They don't need to make demands, shout orders.

They give.

I excuse myself for a break. I find an unromatic but necessary place of solitude to wet one finger and let it drift down into my yearning and the wetness of my panties. And I think about him, giving.

Those eyes.

Averted, downturned perhaps, as he lowers himself to kneel before me. I tell him to look, and he raises his chin and those eyes are smoking, steady, but not defiant. He holds my gaze, and his eyes turn melancholy, beseeching, he's transformed from a brilliant officer to a supplicant, ready to give me anything. I reach for his head, pet him. I mess his adorable, boyish hair before pulling his head toward me. I lean back against a wall, place one leg over his shoulder, and drag him in to taste me.

His reluctance is thrilling. His lips are against my bare mound, but he will not move. I have to force him. I push him lower and tell him, "Pleasure me, boy." He tries to pull away and I grasp his hair in my fist and press him right where I want him. I feel his breath against my skin, and I wait for him to give up, to give me his tongue. And finally it reaches out, so tiny, shy. He begins to lick and it's all I can do to keep from moaning long and loud at the first delicate sweeps of his wet pinkness. But I won't give him my cries, yet.

I want him to know, for certain, that he will always be mine, and that I am in command. I will not cry for him, moan for him, give him my pleasure until he's done the work. He must know that when he approaches me this is what he will get. What he will have to give. His tongue moves with more determination now, slipping in and out, swirling, his face pressed tight against my mound. My hand moves with his head, directs him when necessary.

It's his job to make me come. I won't let go until he does.

And I will come. My finger moves fast now, my mind a thousand kilometers a second. He's plotting a course through space, blithely answering every impossible question from the Captain, his voice reporting in tones so confident and terms beyond the reach of most minds on the bridge. His good manners, even as I dominate him. His mouth, his eyes, his intellect.

My command.

All coalesce as I lean against a cold and familiar wall, its unforgiving tiles forgotten. My fingers fly, my breath in my throat is ragged as I struggle to be quiet. I think of feeding him information, requested telemetry, my body, and I buck up against my own hand and stifle a savage cry, press into myself to feel the throbbing as it slowly subsides.

I let my skirt fall, straighten myself, fix a hairpin.

When I see the first officer on the bridge and he smiles, I will nod and smile back.


	3. March by TalesFromTheSpockside

_**NEXT :** The wonderful storyteller TalesFromTheSpockSide with Mr. March_

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__Thank you for the lovely response and reviews. Please if you enjoy this story or chaper let us know. _

_Now truer words could never be spoken: This site needs more Pike!!!!!!!!! For the lover of Christopher Pike in us all - ENJOY!!!!!!!!_

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_**March – Christopher Pike**_

Yesterday was the first day he felt whole again, he said. Out of the chair, the entire day. Swam laps and didn't get winded. I just looked on and enjoyed the view.

"You've been out of hospital for weeks," I teased him.

"I had to recover from my recovery," he replied. He hates medical facilities. I didn't used to, but I do now; we've spent far too long living in one.

And now he's free. The scars will fade and remain as medals of battle. They're almost all on his back and legs. I don't see them anymore.

He makes dinner every night, says he missed actual food. Even before the disaster, he grumbled about Starfleet rations. Tonight he stuffs me full of chicken marsala and asparagus and follows it up with something indescribably chocolate and gooey.

"You know what that does to me," I complain, but he knows I don't mean it. His smile is sly.

"That's why I do it," he murmurs. It's part of the game.

After we've tidied up, the chocolate has hit my system big time and my head is pleasantly afloat. I stand at the window, looking out over the headlands and the fog rolling in, and catch his scent. Old Spice and coffee, and the mouth that follows it sneaks up to the back of my neck. He licks and kisses from the edge of my shirt up to the line of my cropped hair, runs his fingers through it as if it were deep pile fur. My hands that have been hanging at my sides shift back to grasp his hips and pull them against my backside and I tip my head back as his mouth travels to my jaw.

"Like this?" he murmurs. I turn around, lifting my arms, he pulls my shirt up and off, and I lower my arms to frame his head, curl around it as his kiss anchors me to him. He nudges a knee between my legs and rocks me against the wall, hands steadying me as he compresses my mouth and ass with his body.

There's no escape from his lips and tongue - nowhere for my head to go - but I'm happily trapped until he pauses for air and against his mouth I whisper, "Like this," my hands going down to his waistband, my unbound breasts brushing lightly against his shirt as he pulls back to let me free him, and to get his hands on my pants as well. Once our loins are bare we press against each other and our moans mingle in our mouths.

He's not that much taller than me. He braces his feet and I slide down a bit, spreading my knees, and his silky hardness finds my opening easily, slipping into my sleeve and just resting there, pulsing and waiting. He arches his back a bit and brings one hand down between us, one hand steadying himself on the wall, his tongue in my ear. I shudder at his fingertips busy in my folds and hear him chuckle.

"You know," I gasp, "what that does to me - "

He knows, too well. Those insistent digits, no longer needed to pilot a starship or fire a weapon, thrust confidently against my clit, and his lips cover mine as he propels me into bliss, my cry resonating in his mouth. I'm still moaning when his hand gives me a departing squeeze and he brings it up to plant it against the wall. I know what's next and I hook my leg up over his hip and tilt my pelvis to get him further inside me. We hold still for a moment and as he begins to pump up into me I murmur dirty words in his ear.

"Fuck, baby," he groans; profanity coming from my mouth is so rare that it throws fuel on the fire, and he rockets into me with a yell and a clenching of his already tight ass. I hold him up, or perhaps it's the other way around, and we catch our breath enough to kick our clothes out of the way and adjourn to the bedroom, where we fling ourselves down and kiss and touch.

Until I wake to his sleepy, smiling face. Whole again.


	4. April by LadyFangs

**A Warning: **If you suffer from a known heart condition - please do not read any further!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Next: **The father of the hottest Vulcan hybrid ever shown on film or adored in fanfiction, Sarek. This chapter is brought to you by LadyFangs. Enjoy. Read - Review - Show some love

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_**Disclaimer** : We still don't own them and that makes us sad. So let's not talk about it. _

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**April - Sarek**

**Prologue:**

I see Ambassador Sarek almost every day as he stalks the halls of the embassy. He never says much…but his presence screams louder than any words he could ever utter.

He's got Money. Power. Respect. And he does it all without having to raise that smooth baritone. His words are like honey as that voice washes over me and it's like those dark eyes pierce right through to my soul.

I am an open book and I want him to read me.

He's tall and dark, like his son- but he is not the latter. While the younger one is emotional, he keeps his cool; where the young one is rough, he's smooth. I want to know just what it is that can undo him…and I want to be the one to make him lose control.

His clothing is always immaculate, perfectly tailored to his tall frame. And if only I could be the jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders…the shirt that caresses his solid chest…the trousers that encase those long legs…I want to be the seams and the zipper by his _lok _and I wanna know what it tastes like…

Those hands…they carry with them the years of experience and I want to learn from them…I want him to teach me…I want to _study_ under him…on top of him…I want him to _fill me…_

He's Commander Spock's daddy. And any man that can create something that damn fine makes me want to make the attempt too.

Sometimes I secretly wonder what our babies would look like.

His movements are defined- each with a purpose and reason. There is a nefariousness hidden behind that calm face, magnificent in its symmetry. He never smiles…but those lips I want to kiss…to taste…I can tell there's something dark about him, something…dangerous…_animal_.

And I must admit-

It turns me on.

He's a man with secrets, his soul tightly guarded- and while I know I'll probably never have his heart….

I wanna fuck his body.

And then suddenly I am pulled out of my daydream as he turns and looks at me. I swear he saw everything I was thinking, except…I know his kind are _touch _telepaths_…right? _My mind races back to everything I've ever learned about his people…but it's all a blur and before I know it, He says nothing but begins walking slowly towards me- each step measured, precise.

I tremble under the heat of his gaze and soon I am trembling from the heat of his body as it rolls over me in waves.

He still says nothing as he moves in close to me- his own face inches from mine. I close my eyes as he reaches out his hand…

And caresses the side of my face…

My knees go weak. And I come right there.

"You are projecting," are his words, low and dripping with sex as he whispers in my ear while catching me before I hit the floor. He eases me back down into my seat before he turns and leaves.

It takes me an hour to recover…and when I do I look at what he has placed in my hand.

A hotel card. With a room number.

And I know then…He's about to make all my fantasies come true. And I am terrified, even as my panties soak through.

**Encore**

I am now standing in front of the door to the hotel room. The same hotel room in the same hotel as the one listed on the card he gave me.

I am nervous. I have never felt such anxiety before. I am a cool, confident woman. But right now I feel like an inexperienced virgin about to have her first time.

It's…disconcerting.

I take several breaths to calm my jittery nerves. In…Out...One…Two…Inhale…Exhale…

_Get yourself together girl! _I tell myself. People do this all the time…_right…Right?_

Finally, I exhale the last breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding_. _I straighten up. Toss my hair over my shoulders and put on my sexy.

_I'm ready…_

**II**

The door opens on my command, and I am somewhat taken aback but really only mildly shocked. After all…it's the Penthouse. He was expecting me.

I step through the doors and as they swoosh close I realize that all the lights are off.

But it's not dark.

All around me are glass windows overlooking the city. And while I can see for miles…there's no one around to see me.

Or so I think.

The carpet is a lush ivory- soft, like a blanket. I start moving forward, drawn to the view of the windows. I go to remove my stilettos- vintage six-inch 2010 Alexander McQueen's- black. They're my "fuck me" pumps. Every woman has a pair.

I'm bending over, busy removing the straps when a voice from the shadows speaks out- and I freeze…warm waves of heat washing over me…

"Do not remove your shoes."

The words come from that chocolaty baritone that I have come to associate with such vivid fantasies. And instantly…I get wet. Of course, I didn't wear panties- or a bra…and my nipples get hard through the thin fabric of the dress I had decided to wear.

It's amazing how he says so little…never raises his voice…and yet his every command is always obeyed.

I turn in the direction of the voice, and in a corner I see a shadow move slightly. But still he does not come forward.

"Do not mind me. I see the view has garnered you attentions."

Something else entirely has garnered my attention, but I get the hint. I turn to the windows again.

The designers of the suite had sense. A waist high steel bar has been constructed in front of the windows- probably to keep people from crashing through. Smart.

As I now look out- the view is even better than I thought. I can see Oakland across the bay, its twinkling lights greeting my eyes and feeding my senses. I live there. And I think that if I squint just hard enough I can almost see my…

_Ohhh…._

My eyes snap shut and I lean back- into a heated body pressed against my back…

Warm hands wrap around me- the grip so firm and tight and I can feel the power flowing through those hands as they move up my waist and each one cups one breast and he squeezes…

I moan aloud again…

Arching back into his attentions…

His lips are on the back of my neck and he's sucking…one hand now kneading my breasts and the other moving down, down…

He's outlining my body with his hands and I'm trapped between him and the bar- the city twinkling out below…

Suddenly a jolt of electricity shoots up my body from my clit at his touch and he hasn't even entered me and already I am coming...trembling under the expertise of those hands…lovely, lovely hands…and my mouth gets wet too…

All I can think about is tasting him…

He knows my thoughts…The hand that was teasing me below now moves to my mouth as I begin to such each digit…long and nimble…and I am working those fingers as if they are a lifeline and I'm dying…

Because in reality I must be dead because this is beyond anything I could have ever comprehended.

His voice came again…thick with lust and yet still so controlled…

"How do you find your taste?"

Oh Gods this man…

It's too hot…too much, and lord knows I want more than his hands inside me…

I want to know how _he_ tastes…

My daily yoga routine comes in handy as I pop the last slick finger from my mouth and slip out of his grasp. And I am instantly on my knees before him.

His face is bathed in the moonlight and the shadows, and I notice that he has on those long, dark Vulcan robes. The ones that cover him completely and yet…are the stuff fantasies are made of.

My hands go to the middle- through the soft cloth to find my goal- ah! There…

My own nimble fingers work as I remove that gorgeous robe, letting it fall to the floor as if it were a rag- and once I reach my goal I quickly pull down his pants until I am face to face with the most beautiful symbol of masculinity I have ever seen in my life.

And I'm amazed…because it's so big…and he's not even hard yet.

I don't waste time- because really, I'm an impatient kind of girl- and I've wondered for so long about this and now I know…

It's so hot in my mouth as I take my first lick…from base to tip I let my tongue caress it almost lovingly…

He doesn't move- doesn't even flinch…but as I begin to swallow it I can tell he likes what I'm doing cause it's growing…

And so I go for more…

Faster…now encircling…enticing…

It's exquisite…divine…

Like nothing I've ever had and I think about writing the makers of a certain confection and telling them to make a lollypop in _his_ flavor…

I could be a millionaire.

So caught up am I that I am startled when he pulls me up to my feet by my arms, his grip hard and bruising.

He says nothing as he spins me around, grabbing my dress and ripping it with both hands…

"Place your hands on the bar and bend over."

His voice is thick now, heady- and I know to comply with his orders.

I can feel my own wetness starting to run…and yet…he hasn't entered me…

I want to turn to look at him…but I know better.

I can feel his eyes on me, dark and contemplating.

The slight breeze from the air vent blows across my sensitive spots, making me begin to whimper…I want him…

And yet…

He's teasing me. Testing me.

And I'm like the eager pupil wanting desperately to please.

And then- I feel him again behind me, those hands grabbing both cheeks as he spreads me- opens me- and I can't help but cry out as he impales me.

And really, there is no other term for what he's doing.

I've never had anything like this and it's so big it fucking _hurts_…

But it hurts so _good_…and I'm already so ready that I start to move with him…

The pain quickly subsides as he opens me, and starts to fuck me.

He's fucking me and oh praise the deities of the heavens that created his race! Because it's so good…so hard…

Each stroke agonizing in its intensity- and I can feel every crest…every ridge….every vein in him…and it's hot inside me ….

He moves purposely- taking pleasure in my pleasure I can tell- as he drives me onward…faster…and harder…and suddenly I can't stand by myself anymore as my knees go weak and our sex begins to flow…

He catches me still- fucking me- and lifts me off my feet.

We haven't changed position. He's still behind me, holding me up with one hand around my waist as he continues his attentions…but I am no longer aware of any of the physical structures around us as the room starts to spin…

I vaguely remember his hand around my throat…His breath in my ear…It's too much…too many sensations…too much heat…too much intensity…too much and it's burning within me…

And he hasn't stopped. He has no intention to- and Oh! God…I don't want him to…

I wanna be fucked by him. Sucked by him…And so…

When he slips out of me- my world comes crashing down and I start to shake uncontrollably from the loss.

But he knows…

He always knows…

He moves me now, down.

And we're on the floor. I'm on my hands and knees…my ass in the air…and suddenly, I know what he wants.

I've never done this before…but that doesn't stop me.

I'd do anything he asked of me…but I can't hide the tremble in my belly…At least he's honest.

"This will hurt."

It's all he says as he grabs my ass again and I feel his hardness push against an opening not created for something of that size…and I slam my eyes shut- trying not to cry out as I expand larger and larger to accommodate him…

He enters slowly…inch by agonizing inch- and he's right…it hurts like nothing I've ever felt…But then…

He raises one hand to my face and caresses me…and as I lean into his touch…

It doesn't hurt anymore and I can feel _his _pleasure.

Something dark and heavy…and vast…

And like that…

I'm sucked in…

**III**

I want more of him. Each thrust I meet like it's my saving grace and damn- if I'm going to hell I will surely enjoy the way there.

It's hard. And deep. And fast…and I can't get enough as I scream with wanton abandon…

I am hot. Sweaty…sticky…and I am fucking like the porn stars in the holo-vids I've always watched but never dared try…and now I know…

It feels good.

I can feel him almost in my belly and suddenly, the pressure is again too much- _Fuck Me…_

Are the words I scream and they're the words he must have wanted to hear because he sets an impossible pace for us, his hands gripping me so tight I know they'll leave bruises in the morning. But at the time I don't care and neither does he because he starts to come unglued…

I can hear each pant…each curse (and yes Vulcans do swear), each nasty filthy thing he whispers in my ear…and as we race each other to our respective climaxes there's a strange, low growling sound around me that seems to get louder and louder; feeding me…urging me…

Time no longer has its place. I've lost track of it…and just as I think I can't possibly take much more of this…

That burning web of heat in between my legs finally explodes and I unleash a wild feral howl- alien even to my own ears- as the room around me starts to swirl again…and I can feel the wetness coursing down my legs… But it's not just my own…

The lights outside start to spin and dammit if I am not crashing, falling, down…down… down…

Into the blackness of the city below…

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear a loud groan…and my body is filled with something hot. Flowing liquid. And I know, just as I begin to black out…

That I made him crack.


	5. May by The SouthernScribe

**Next: **My favorite doctor, Leonard 'Bones' McCoy - first mentioned as Mr. May in the Beginning to End drabble. So enjoy - of course this round is on me.

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_**Disclaimer** : We still don't own them and that makes us sad. So let's not talk about it. _

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_**May - Leonard McCoy**_

"You shouldn't be out here alone. _Somethin'_ or _someone_ might git ya." His words are slurred and heavy with a deep southern drawl.

My first inclination is to turn and knock the hell out of this drunk pervert. Instead I find Leonard McCoy partly standing - mostly slumping against an old car. The backdrop of the city lights highlighting the flecks of gold and green sprinkled in his eyes. His smile is genuine and slowly I'm melting into a pile of goo. It's the voice, the smirk, and the way he's wearing those jeans. My eyes linger on the zipper. There's a slight bulge and it can't all be blamed on the denim.

"Are you checking out my junk?" He plays offended well but his lop – sided grin gives him away. He's enjoying the attention.

_Hell yes _I'm checking out your junk and imagining what you look like stripped naked in the middle of my bed. _Shit. _Sometimes a girl has got to be bad.

The heat rushes to my cheeks with the thought of him and my definition of _bad _which in this case is more like _naughty _or _nice_ depending on who you ask_._ He's concerned by my lack of response and the distant look in my eyes. He transitions from predator to physician, slipping from the comfortable safety of the car that's preventing his face from becoming personally acquainted with the pavement. I watch as he stumbles and sways along the short path it takes to reach me.

A simple blue t-shirt has never looked so good. For a medical boy his arms are well defined. He spends more time in the gym than he'd like any one to know. I can see the sharp lines of chiseled abs hiding under the flimsy shirt. To touch or not to touch that is my question?

Before I can move an inch, his hands cup my face. He takes my temperature the way my grandmother would, the back of his hand resting against my forehead, and those eyes piercing my soul searching for a hint.

All I can think about is the softness of his hands. They're delicate, fragile yet strong. The finest surgical instruments money can buy wouldn't be as precise as his touch. His fingertips are smooth as they trace the lines of my lips. The movements are sensual and intimate. More than two people who barely know each other should share. He licks his lips and there's something he wants to say but instead- silence.

My intentions are to walk away. Cool – calm – totally oblivious to his charms. When his hand reaches for me there's a searing heat in his grip. It remains unspoken but the urgency of the movement allows my body to be drawn back to him. Pushing aside the thoughts of Scarlett crashing into Rhett's chest as he kissed her senseless. Yes that would be good right now.

He's staring. Watching my chest as it rises and falls. Memorizing every flutter of my lashes as his finger extends to touch them.

I'm stretching on tip toes to reach his neck; unsure of what to do once there but totally playing it by ear. His scent is woodsy and clean with an underlying spice probably from the shots of bourbon he's been throwing back all night. Out of pure reflex my lips kiss his neck. I feel the groan in his chest more than I hear it. I'm smiling now…still kissing…even licking a little and the groan turns into a growl that sets me on fire.

His arms crush me and just as I suspected it wasn't all denim.

"I told you someone might git ya." He whispers against my hair.

I want him to get me. Take everything he wants and more, right there, but he won't. He's a gentleman. Instead his head inches towards mine and our lips touch. They're softer than his hands and you remember the puddle, I'm evaporating now. My tongue licks his lips removing the traces of the night's libations until it's only the essence of McCoy. His kiss is sweet, intoxicating even, and a small cry leaves my mouth. He parts my lips more with his tongue and now our kiss is a combination of flavors. South meets north. East mingles with west.

It ends too soon. He backs away and opens the car door. I watch as his body folds into the seat, "Get in."

_Good _girl - I promise to be such a good girl - as I obey his first command of the night sliding in beside him.


	6. June by TalesFromTheSpockSide

_First, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed the story to this point. We are at the half way mark. I appreciate it and so do all the ladies involved. The next entry is short but does not suffer from a lack of heat. It was a challenge to write Mr. June because...well he's the baby of the group...and no one wanted to be considered a dirty old lady...but as the young ensign can say if it doesn't bother you...it doesn't bother me. For all intents and purposes this Pavel is 18._

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_So give a lovely round of applause to TalesFromTheSpockSide and her lovely tale of Mr. June. As always show the ladies some love with reviews and comments. We love to hear what you're thinking. _

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_**June - Chekov**_

Chekov, Pavel Andreiovich

His is the face that fooled a thousand ships. But his body tells it like it is.

His face invites a pinch of the cheek, long lashes, eager eyes, a soft-lipped little mouth. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. Everyone wants to pat him on the head and say, "Run along now." I wanted to pat him somewhere else.

He came to the graduation party, without relatives or other hangers-on, like me. When half a dozen of us uncovered the hot tub he was delighted. "Is greatest thing for foggy nights in San Francisco! But I did not bring swimwear."

We told him he could get in in his underwear, but he shook his head. "No, no, I mean that if me naked doesn't bother you, doesn't bother me."

Didn't bother us. The two guys in the tub snickered, but when he pulled off his t-shirt they smothered it. His abs were quite shapely for such a skinny guy. Unlike most Californians, he didn't have a tan line, but the sight of his curls and young penis was even more beautiful.

He sank into the steam and grinned, and time went on. Some people went back in the house to do shots. Some left the party to do something else. Then there were two - me and the white Russian.

I got overheated and shifted up to sit on the edge of the tub. Leaned back on my hands and was treated to the sight of his tight wet curls as he stood on the step and leaned over me.

"Doesn't bother you?" he murmured in my ear and then kissed it.

"Doesn't bother me," I said as he pulled the bow on the back of my swimsuit.


	7. July by TalesFromTheSpockside

_You guys are full of awesome!!!!!!! Thank you for the love and support you've shown this project. We all appreciate it. Keep reading. Keep reviewing. Continue fanning and swooning. _

_Up next another entry from my friend TalesFromTheSpockside._

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**July - Spock (Reboot Version)**

He'd be shy, even if he weren't part Vulcan. Not while he's working; in Commander mode there's nothing retiring about him. It's when I see him in the mess hall, working out in the gym, at theatrical performances, that he looks like a polite, introverted boy. It's a sharp contrast to his appearance. He's tall, well built, with capable hands and obvious strength. His skin - what I see of it! - is unscarred, just slightly not the red-blooded color of the humans around him. His strength is tamed, though, by the quietness of his demeanor and his meticulous manners.

We were classmates at the Academy, crewmates on Enterprise, and now quartered at Starfleet while the ship is being repaired. His room is across from mine, on a hall with some other science crew. We've been here a week and I know his schedule, clockwork as is his habit. So when there is a tap on my door at 2000 hours I know it can't be him.

But it is. He says a soft hello and I invite him in; he explains that the entire west side of the building has lost power and water, including the rooms across the hall. He could manage until tomorrow without a shower, he says, but as he knows me well, and my facilities are likely to be functional - he hoped he could presume -

I interrupt him with a smile and tell him to proceed with his ablutions. He nods and thanks me, again softly, almost humbly; it doesn't even occur to me to be impressed that Commander Spock, without whom Earth would be a loose collection of atoms, has asked to use my shower. No - I wonder whether he'll mind smelling like freesias when he's done.

I'm sitting on the minuscule couch, drinking tea, when I hear the water shut off. Sooner than I expect, a tall figure emerges from the steamy bathroom, a towel over his shoulder, another in his hand, rubbing his hair. Loose pajama pants, bare feet, a man comfortable with himself and among friends. When he drags the towel off his head I stifle a giggle at the un-Vulcan spikiness of his hair. He tells me he will collect his clothes in a moment and I ask if he wants tea, to which he nods and I get him a cup, noting that I remember how he was never warm enough when he lived here before.

He takes a deep drink of the hot Earl Grey and closes his eyes as the steam bathes his face. I'm enjoying his freedom of expression and movement, glad I could help him; standing across the room from him I feel like one of my brothers has come to visit and made himself at home. Then he leans down to set his cup on a table and my thoughts spin from sisterly to something quite different. The muscles across his back and shoulders, soft pants clinging perilously to his narrow hips, make my hands tingle with the desire to touch, stroke, squeeze. This is not new to me; I've recognized for a long time what a sexual animal he is, and dreamed of his body and mine intertwined.

He can't have sensed my thoughts, but as he turns and straightens his eyes meet mine, dark mirrors beneath dark brows, and although his mouth is thanking me for the use of my shower, his feet are bringing him closer, slowly as if not to startle. I wait, holding his gaze, and his hand rises to touch my face, the pads of his fingers burning into my cheek and jaw. My chin lifts, bringing my lips up and apart, to meet the sweet heat of his mouth as it wraps around me.


	8. August by Nerdielady

_Monday morning and what does that mean? _

_Time for a new month and a new Calendar Boy._

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_Nerdielady was gracious enough to take us on a little journey into August and our favorite security officer, Cupcake. I don't know about you but I have a weakness for big, bald, broad shouldered men. Please don't tell the little skinny boy in Texas who currently holds my heart. Then it will turn into another argument about how I don't respect his 'skinty'. So buckle up. Turn the air up in your homes and offices. This one is smoking hot. Remember the rules, show the writers some love with your reviews and comments. _

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**August - Cupcake**

I like 'em big and he's big. Tall and broad shouldered - something to hang onto, you know?

And strong. I once saw him knock a guy clean across a bar, ass over teakettle. Made me get all excited.

He's got this neat little cock-eyed grin, all off on one-side of his mouth, that seems to say 'come on in' - and oh, I would.

I want to rub my fingers over that fuzzy scalp and just sink into the feel of it against my fingertips, making them burn with it. Ah! And that mustache and little chin beard just make me crazy. Can't you just imagine what that would feel like, dragging across your thighs?

He's in there, in the gym, now, in those tiny little shorts they make the guys wear. How he stuffs himself in there, I'll never figure out. They're so tight he can't possibly be able to breathe. Doesn't leave a thing to the imagination. Very drool-worthy.

I'm in the men's locker. I shouldn't be in here. Any minute now he's going to come and take a shower. Oh, to be in that shower stall! I'll probably get caught, but it will definitely be worth it. Here he comes now, I'll just slink along behind.

Gah! He dropped those shorts and just look at that butt! I just want to lick it all over. He's turned on the water and it's running all over him and I've got a big problem. I'm so turned on I can hardly walk. It's just a few more feet and then I can touch him. Run my hands all down his back, over that tight behind. That tight, fuzzy behind. I think I'll just bite it. Oh, that tastes so good.

Ooops! He's turning around. And look what's right in front of my face. Such a lovely toy. Come to mama, now. Let me run my tongue all over that, yeah, you just keep moaning like that. I like to hear that. Now what can I find for my hands to play with. Yes, those will do nicely, and gee, he seems to like that. If the noises he's making are any indication. Oh, yes!

And now those big strong arms are lifting me up and he's looking right in my face, like he was trying to memorize me. What's that you said? My clothes are all wet? Well, we can surely do something about that, can't we now. Better? Oh, yes. Give me some of that. That chest is just fuzzy all over - just the way I like it. Just let me rub myself on that for a while. You can rub anything you like on me, yes sir. That's just fine.

Oh, that beard tickles. I thought it would. Just keep that up. Yes, I'm going to do some screaming now. Don't you dare stop. See, I can wind my legs around your waist just fine. And that fits just perfectly, oh, my. That's really big. I'm all stretched out now and it feels so very good. You just keep that up, yes indeed, just keep doing that. I feel some more screaming coming on. You can scream too, if you want. Or just keep moaning like that. That's pretty dadgum sexy, to tell the truth.

What's that you say? Why don't we go somewhere else and keep this up? Thought you'd never ask.


	9. September by TheSouthernScribe

_September is the month of my birth, so I'm stepping in for the final time to bring you the latest gentleman. _

_Thank you to all the readers and reviewers. We appreciate your kind words and flailing arms. It's getting closer to the end and I hate that. Hope you all still enjoying these moments of adoration. _

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**Disclaimer - Gorgeous but not ours!!!!**

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_**September - Hikaru Sulu**_

I'm no rocket scientist in the area of friendship. Self – centered, narcissistic, and a bevy of negative adjectives come to mind during periods of self reflection. For the third Friday in the span of a month we're sitting in a bar, our bar, battling with two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. And like every night before this one, he's there masking his frustration and listening to me bitch and moan about him; the guy whose name is not Hikaru.

I'm talking a mile a minute, hands flailing in the air. My curls flying around my face as I toss them over my shoulder. He smirks and rolls his eyes. He even huffs once or twice. I'm complaining again about the man I like, love, or feign infatuation for. Hikaru listens. His mouth opens to drop words of wisdom and suddenly I'm speaking again.

In a rare moment of my silence he manages to edge a word or two into the conversation.

"I'm not _that_ guy." The way he finalizes the statement with my name causes a sharp pain to shoot through my chest.

His face and voice are humorless as he conveys those words and I'm not use to seeing him this way. He balks when I call him Karu in the sugary sweet tone that usually results in a smile resting on his face revealing the most perfect pair of dimples God ever made

"Move on." Hikaru tells me. "He's no good for you." He continuously warns.

Never do I take the advice he offers in his role as friend and hostile mediator. My mouth doesn't stop moving long enough to hear his problems and what's worse I don't ask. Instead I ramble on and on, unleashing my grief on his ears. He's taken it until tonight.

He stands signaling to the bar that he'll cover everything; his hands circling the mess at our high- top table, "My credits," he mouths in the bartender's direction. I'm numb as I watch him step down and move towards the door. My feet are glued to the spot where we're sitting; it's like they're no longer accustomed to walking in non regulation footwear.

He's gotten a few paces on me and after all the mishaps with standing, nearly falling, and rushing out the door, I catch up. He shirks from my touch and continues on his mad dash to wherever he'd rather be.

_Ru…my voice is a whisper_

No response...

_Karu…the desperation is seeping in to my tone_

Still no acknowledgement of my pleas…

_Hikaru…I need him to look at me right now_

He does.

Relief pours over me. We're walking hand in hand in comfortable silence. We sit side by side on the transport legs barely touching. I follow him nervously to the door of his temporary quarters.

The room looks like him – meticulous – sharp lines and dark colors. I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time. The smiles he shares with me are a rarity. The offering of his shoulder for my tears a privilege I've taken for granted far too long.

He's poised in the middle of the room. I step in his direction preparing for rejection. It never comes. I'm dizzy from his presence, the power he holds over me at that moment. My hands trembling as I grab for the lapels of his jacket. My kiss is brutal, reminiscent of an attack instead of a show of affection. I need him to know that tonight it's only about him. This is not a desperate attempt to push thoughts of another out of my mind. This is me letting go for…_him_…

It's retribution…

A craving that must be filled…

He's bare and waiting - manhood at attention as I caress him in my hands guiding him to the mouth that waits in anticipation. His head rolls back with the introduction of new warmth and searing wetness. He grabs my head, forcing me to swallow every inch.

It's the first step in showing and proving he's so much more than _that _guy.


	10. October by Nerdielady

_Nerdielady expertly handled the original Mr. Spock. Come on now, you knew we couldn't let the year pass without a visit from Ambassador Spock. Remember show the author some love with a review. Visit my profile for a link to the Calendar Boys album. _

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_**October - Spock Prime**_

The Vulcan Embassy had chosen part of the artifacts in their private collection and sent them on a tour of the world. They attracted a lot of attention. And he had found that presenting himself at whatever museum they were housed in was an excellent way to obtain...company...someone pleasant to spend his evening with. So here he was, about to make another 'entrance'. He straightened up, tugged at the hem of his jacket, and then clasped his hands behind him and sauntered in. He strolled down the center of the long gallery at a sedate pace, pausing now and then to glance at a particular piece - usually one with an attractive young lady in front of it. His sensitive ears picked up the gasps and whispers that followed him. A slight smirk spread itself over his face. He would have a good choice to pick from tonight.

He reached the end of the gallery and paused before turning to pace back. This time he stopped more frequently, displaying himself to those that had whispered before. Behind his back were sighs and occasionally, a moan. Very good. By the time he had reached his starting point, he had made his choice. He turned once more and walked directly to the young woman he had chosen. He stopped in front of her, bending his head slightly towards her. "I find myself in need of a dinner companion this evening. Might I prevail upon you to fill this vacancy?"

She gasped and stared at him. "Me?"

"I believe you are the one to whom I am speaking."

"I...I...Oh, my, yes. I would love to have dinner with you. What time?"

"I believe now is as good as any." He offered her a crooked elbow and she tentatively slid her hand around his arm, feeling the heat rising through his clothing. He escorted her from the gallery to the amazement of the other young women present, who immediately set to whispering again. Should he decide to return to this museum, there would be an eager line forming. The smirk settled in again. This was almost too easy.

He led his prize from the museum and into his waiting flitter. In just a few minutes they were rising into the sky. "Where did you say we were going to dinner?"

"I do not believe that I did say. You will enjoy it though." There was not a lot of talking until they reached their destination. She was suitably impressed with the hotel. Not five minutes after reaching his suite, the catered meal was delivered and set up. He lit the candles and assisted her with her chair, settling down opposite her. The wine he poured was expensive and smooth - and very alcoholic. By the time she had finished her meal she was mellow.

The soft music played in the background and he invited her to dance. She molded her body against him and seemed not to notice at all when he carefully lowered the zipper on her dress. His warm hand lay on the smooth skin of her back, rubbing softly, making her moan. He bent his head and nuzzled against her neck, sending goosebumps rippling down her body. He swirled her about, changing the direction they were moving in. When her calves bumped against the end of the bed, she exclaimed. It took only a brief motion of his hands to slip her dress off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

And then he used his mouth and hands to caress her body until she was writhing and crying out. He laid her back onto the bed and lowered himself beside her, continuing his assault on her senses, touching, tasting, driving her wild. And then he was stripping off his own clothing, quickly, bringing her pliant body against his, and she was pulling, tugging, suddenly urgent in her desires. It was quick work to remove her underwear, to pull one peaked nipple into his mouth. She arched against him, crooning. His hands slid down her body, caressing. One long finger slipped between her nether lips, finding the expected wetness. He stroked and caressed, mouth still busy, while she moaned louder, her hands on his body now, exciting, arousing.

And now she was pulling, tugging, urging, demanding. And he quickly fulfilled her needs, sliding into her slick center and quickly setting a relentless pace. She wailed beneath him, spreading herself wider, bending her knees and rolling her hips up to meet him. He felt it now, building, and he increased his pace, thrusting harder, deeper, until it crashed about him, filling him with ecstasy. She convulsed about him, increasing his pleasure, and he groaned aloud at the intensity of it.

He lay there some time, holding her, until she fell asleep. And then he rose and dressed and departed, paying the bill at the desk as he left. He was refreshed, relaxed, appeased. And in a few days, the exhibit would be in a new city, with fresh game. Life was good.


	11. November by Nerdielady

_Thank you to those out there still reading and reviewing. November is on the horizon. Again, Nerdielady delivers a winner. One more month and its over. I know don't cry people. _

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_**November - Montgomery Scott**_

This was an interesting ship. Everything about it was interesting. The engines were the best he had ever seen. The food was excellent and plentiful. And the women! Surely the most beautiful, the most tantalizing women in all of Star Fleet must be on this ship! And they weren't shy, either. He'd been stuck on that blithering ice planet for so long it was a wonder any of his equipment still worked. But work it did, as he had had no trouble in discovering.

He was on his hands and knees bent down in a horizontal access tube, trying to reach some wiring that some idiot designer had concealed in this almost inaccessible place, when he felt warm hands on his buttocks. He froze, wondering what was going on. Those hands were roaming over the swells of his buttocks, caressing him through the tightly stretched fabric of his trousers. He made some small noise in the back of his throat and a light, lovely chuckle replied. That certainly sounded like a woman, not that he could see at all from where he was.

He shifted a bit as those hands continued to caress him. His trousers were becoming uncomfortably tight. As soon as he shifted his knees, one of those hands dipped down between his legs and forward, cupping the growing bulge there. He moaned. The second hand tapped lightly against the inside of his thigh, urging him to spread further. It was impossible not to respond.

The second hand began to massage his testicles, while the first one continued to stroke his penis through his trousers. He was becoming extremely aroused. There was no way he could move. He was already at the end of the access tube. And it was only barely wide enough for his shoulders. The outsides of his knees were now pressed against the side walls.

There was some slithering and pressure against the sides of his calves as whoever it was that was teasing him so mightily scooted up towards him. He tilted his head down and looked back under his body. Bright red curls, almost at his waist level now. The hands ceased their teasing and began to work on the seals of his trousers. He was panting now, hardly believing what was happening. "Lass, what are ye doin'?"

"Oh, my I thought surely you would have done this before."

"In an access tube? In the middle of the day? Are ye out of yer mind? We'll be caught."

"Oh, I don't think so. I closed the other end of the tube and hung a "test underway" sign on the cap. No one should bother us at all." She had the seals undone now and was working, pushing the fabric down, pulling on his briefs, until she had him entirely bare down to his knees. And then she began to work in earnest, touching, stroking, tasting, even taking little tiny nips at him, until he was panting and groaning and shaking above her.

And then she began to swallow him up and he began to chant above her. "Glory be, oh gracious, oh, lass, doan stop now, ah, gah, uhnnnn." She slid her hands around his buttocks, squeezing, pulling him more closely against her, until he was buried completely within her eager mouth. Shouting and shuddering, he pumped hard and shot explosively down her throat. She swallowed and swallowed, causing the most delicious after shocks.

He trembled, barely able to support himself. And then she began to put him back together again. She gave him a little pat on the butt. "Next time I get to see what you can do."

"But, lass, I dinna know who you are! How will I find you?"

"Don't you worry about that. I have my eye on you. When you get yourself in another good spot, I'll find you."

And she was scooting back down the tube, sliding out, leaving him alone, still wobbly. It was a VERY interesting ship!


	12. December by Ejectingthecore

_This is it. The year only has twelve months. I'm sorry. Let us know if you enjoyed this round of fun. You never know when we may have another adventure under our sleeves. Thank you to Nerdielady, AquaSoulSis, Spockside, and EjectingTheCore for your contributions. A special thank you to Outtabreath and Hopefuladdict who read and confirmed the heat factor of each idea. _

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Now for the final month - December - brought to you by Nimoy's number one fan - Ejectingthecore

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_**December - James T. Kirk**_

He reminds me of biting a cherry. The pure crimson burst of skin. The heat of the dark juice staining fingers, running down arms. The explosion. There's something sultry and graphic about it.

About him.

He's all I think about, alone in the night. Nothing else can do it for me, not anymore.

Just Jim.

He wears being a hero like a sweatshirt, nonchalantly fantastic. He can turn on brilliant, focused authority. Unstoppable by any force. But mostly he's soft and sweetly brooding. Chin in hand. I want to be that hand, feel the contours of his face, feel his sweat and skin on my fingers. Sweat. The sweat, the skin, my fingers.

The way he sits in the captain's chair is coiled power. He pushes his upper body to the side, straining at the boundaries of the chair. His knees are spread while he commands the ship. Black pants tight over toned thighs. Oh, spread. Thighs. Pants. Oh, I'd like to get down there, crawl to just right there, settle my body down between his dusty boots and just taste and touch, every centimeter of skin, every contour of him. He would love it. And then I would suck harder and with a steady rhythm and he would watch me.

Those eyes. A crystal point in black space.

I'd suck him senseless, and he would take it like a man and roar out his pleasure with strength and glory.

When I work on the bridge I watch him. Too much. He swivels in the chair, tightly wound. Stands, springs, a mountain lion of sex and energy. Always pacing, spinning the chair, running his hands along its arms. Massaging it. His hands. Oh, hands. Wrap around me any time. I find myself thinking about begging him. Slam me hard into your chest, Captain. Run your hands up my sides. Take my breasts, squeezing, stroking. Pull me into the chair. Spin me.

His lips are abundant, hot pink on his bruised face. Everyday evidence of fighting on him somewhere. Hands, wrists, face, neck. He fights always, if not in battle then in training. Cuts and bruises. Proof of strength. Aggression. More pleading. Push me down, Captain. Please. Push hot hands under my skirt. Slide a long bruised finger into my wetness. Slide in. Slide. A second finger. Dry thumb on my clit, raspy friction. Sandpaper stubble on my cheek. Blonde hair under my wandering fingers. Oh, wandering fingers. Slide his. Fingers.

My own fingers slide, and slide, and slide.

Next time I see him these fingers will innocently wave and I'll say "Hi."


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